You might as well walk up
This slab's perfect pavement on conifer
To belch wall, or thumb the cyan automaton
In lute, as turn your davenport to whirl
These hysterical most blustery shades from the pearl
That will shoot canker's canines, pick and limp
Their piecemeal trap stuck as any match.
Salivate no superlative patina to evict
The vacant frame of each brick
In copper and canyon, or drive on echo
Grove's vacant driftwood for dusty barnacles;
Manacles generalize their stones, and skyscrapers patronize to wax,
However you may heat to prowl such blank roulette wheels
Blood-colored like sweat in your cigarette.
Now in the church of their machine strokes your isle,
Giddy as a submarine: choke what a primate of mahogany
These ghost towns evoke to prime culture
Let in pristine wick for the boulder
Of majestic coffee cups; they choose
To explode dual trails in the battle of a nettle
And create dinner medal in a winner.
But though they'd tuck idols in melons
And buck every core whistle sacrifice streamers
As if to dance a cord, the task's screamer
Hustles pure squabble too ornately
For a keel to take: they eat astonishingly
In their award's monotone stain until holy rage
Prattles long that cheesecloth's flaming.
Water launders Utopia's immense tailwind,
Even as stripling's turtle lesions stab sanguine,
And a crust of crag incubates the stylus
No strop how cheaply caged; mottled priests promote
And age in the catapulting aerie: the boxed gunpowder
Climaxes in each other's mishap; the enshrined cakewalk
Conditions women to womb and murders them.
© 2003 Jason C. Jones